


Stone Angels

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cemetery, Death, Drabble, Drama, Gen, Guardian Angels, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a guardian angel who never leaves his post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stone Angels

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written Supernatural before. I'm just trying to get a feel for it.

It was raining on the night they put Dean's body in the ground. 

The funeral had been small to begin with, only a few hunters who happened to be in the area.  Very few of them went to the graveside, which was sprawling; a lovely place in its own way.  The graves were spread out in uneven rows, jutting out of the ground like teeth, while couples rested forever side by side.  Many of the graves were old, unkempt and grown over with vines, while others shined with the love of those who were left behind.  Large, stone angels watched over the righteous, or perhaps just the wealthy. 

Those who came to toss their handful of dirt on the casket left fairly quickly, but not without a few words of simple condolences for Sam. 

Sam stayed the longest, until the hole was filled in with dirt, the tarps and chairs cleaned away.  He sat in front of the tombstone for hours, his shoulders jerking as he cried, fingers tracing the engraved writing: _Dean Winchester – Brother and Friend_.   

Even he left eventually.  He looked small and lost as he walked to the Impala, sliding into the driver side.  His forehead came to a rest on the steering wheel, and he stayed there for a moment, shaking hard, before he finally righted himself and started the engine.  Then he was gone, muffled classic rock fading in his wake. 

That left only one, who now stood before Dean's grave, a silent silhouette in the moonlight.

Rain was hardly a deterrent for someone who could never fall ill, never get cold, but sometimes a drop would land in the corners of his eyes, providing the tears he could never cry. 

Unlike Sam, who had a life to return to, a job that never ended, Castiel's purpose now lay before him, deep beneath the ground, his soul in a place Castiel could never reach.  Not that he would want to – Dean is in his very own Heaven, a realm free from the restraints of time, and Sam is already there.  Dean is happy, finally, free from his scars and pain, his heavy burdens lifted.  Castiel would never take that away from him. 

Though the feeling that claws at Castiel's chest is unfamiliar – a wrenching, suffocating pain.  There's nowhere to go.  Nothing left to do.  He raised Dean up and guided him through until the end, always watching, always within reach. 

Castiel can't imagine leaving him, not even now.  Dean isn't even _here_ , not really, but this is the last physical trace of him.  The tombstone is just a moment written in the sand – _Dean Winchester was here_ – and soon the tide will come and wash away the evidence. 

Time is different for Castiel, more fluid, and he can already see the elements washing away Dean's name, his grave falling into disrepair.  Sam will move on, have a family of his own.  He'll put all of this behind him, bury it away to protect himself.  Dean Winchester will be nothing more than a memory that creeps into his mind during the darkest nights, and Sam's wife will be there to kiss away the tears. 

Castiel sees all of this, and when he finally returns to himself, the first tendrils of ivy are touching Dean's grave.  Castiel waves them away and they retract in fear, curling in on themselves as if to hide. 

Though the decision isn't conscious, he knows he'll never leave from this spot.  He'll watch over Dean as he always has, protect his grave from the hand of time.  It's the last he can do for him, and he feels like he owes Dean this much; a monument that will never fade, even if it's forgotten. 

And so he stands, curled slightly over the gravestone, the shadow of his wings protecting the grounds.  For years, centuries, he will stand, until his body turns to stone, and one more guardian angel is added to the cemetery's collection. 

In the years and centuries that pass, people will wonder about the angel carved in a trench coat, and the one perfect grave it protects.  They'll never ask, never go in for a closer look.  "There's something special about that spot," they'll think.  "Something like magic." 

When the cemetery is forgotten, grown over and covered with trees, Castiel and Dean will still remain.  The one clearing among the vines, the one shaft of sunlight in the woods. 


End file.
